by Everly Frost
I can’t tell him any of that because knowing about the curse will kill him. I scrunch my hands into the material at my sides, suddenly shocked to realize that my sash has slipped its knot and by tugging on it… I’ve made it worse.
I stop moving but it’s too late. The sash gives way. The material drops gently to my sides. The only thing keeping it from sliding apart completely is because it’s caught on the inner curve of my breasts. I try not to breathe or move. Even the slightest movement will be my undoing.
Baelen freezes, but he doesn’t take his eyes from my face.
Damn. His self-control is absolute. It always was. The memory of his younger voice rips through me… May I have your permission?
My shoulders sink. I ignore my robe and all the skin I’m revealing. It’s all ugly bruises anyway. “I can’t explain. I wish I could.”
“Then…” He sidesteps me, swings the door open, but pauses in the doorway, filling it with his big body. He’s suddenly frozen there, half-turned, the black thread from the new stitches showing through his white shirt like crisscrossing tracks across his back. One hand flexes against the door frame.
Please stay. I take the chance to give it one last try. I swallow my pride, knowing that I’m not above begging. But only this once. “Please, Baelen, take my hand. I’ll never ask you for anything else. Just this. Please.”
“No.”
Stubborn male!
I inhale a scream of frustration. There aren’t enough glares in the world to hurl at his disappearing back. Even if his back is so broken that it breaks my heart to see it. My bedroom door clicks and then he’s gone.
I’ve had enough. I’ve been grabbed at, beaten up, accosted, pushed around, backed into a corner, and every male except the one I want is trying to get his hands on me. Literally.
Stupid trials! I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look far too small without my storm suit or my armor on. Far too vulnerable.
Stupid mirror, stupid bruises, stupid bath, stupid robe… I scream. “Stupid self-control!”
I rip off the robe, hurl it to the floor, and stomp on it. Not a great idea when my body’s still sore and aching. The impact shudders through my calf and up my thigh. “Ouch.”
I drop to the floor, dragging the robe around me as Jordan races into the room. She takes one look at me curled up on the floor and goes into attack mode.
“What did he do?” She looks fit to run after him and pummel him herself.
“Nothing. He didn’t do anything.” I rest my head against the edge of the bath, pushing my hair out of my eyes, pretending I don’t have tears in them. “Nothing at all.”
26. Baelen Rath
I grip the doorframe so hard, I sense it shift beneath my palm, threatening to crack. I want to turn back to Marbella, take the hand she’s offering, take what she wants to give, drown in her soft skin, forget myself, forget the trials and all the rules, inhale her soft breaths, taste her lips, steal this moment with her.
“Please, Baelen, take my hand. I’ll never ask you for anything else. Just this. Please.”
She’s begging me. It shocks me to my core that she would beg me. I would do anything for her. Without question. But the plea in her voice, the desperation in her eyes, it’s nothing to do with love and everything to do with survival. I recognize it. I know what it’s like to have no options left. But inside my head is all one big mess of wanting to touch her—wanting her more than anything—and not wanting to lose her.
My self-control slips. I nearly turn back, but then her declaration repeats on me:
I can’t let you win.
The fear in her eyes tells me there’s more to it. There’s a reason. It’s bigger than not wanting me in her life, although she might mean that she doesn’t. Whatever the reason, she’s willing to give up on us because of it.
She’s willing to place her hand in mine one last time and then cast me out of her life forever.
Pain courses through me. It strikes through my chest so hard, I can’t breathe. My hand flexes on the doorframe. I try to inhale, try to draw air into my lungs.
The pain of the wounds in my back is nothing compared to this.
My heart cracks, breaks.
I can’t fight the hurt. “No.”
She inhales behind me as if she’s about to speak again, but I can’t stay in her presence. My legs are numb as I cross her bedroom and pass her carefully made bed—it was never so neat when I knew her, as if she controls what little she can now.
I want to roar, want to shout, rage against the invisible barriers between us. My numb fingers grip her bedroom door, open it, and close it behind me with a quiet click.
Jordan and Elise wait a mere step outside, casting me alarmed glances, and I’m suddenly afraid that my pain is etched across my face, visible for the world to see.
Without speaking, I stride away from them, my boots hammering the floor, a harsh beat that pounds through my head. The edges of my vision cloud and my focus becomes pinpoint.
Battle. Fight. Rage.
I head for the training room, ignoring the glances cast my way as I make my way from Marbella’s quarters to the military compound, ignoring the hush that falls over the training room as soon as I enter and stride toward the only free training post. The soldiers around me stop what they’re doing to follow my path. Sunlight streams through the open window beside the post, glowing around me. The wounds on my back are no doubt visible through my shirt, making their eyes widen. Damn wounds.
I rip my shirt off, not caring that the damage is fully visible. I fought like a demon in that arena. My father trained me to close off the memories of battle, not to relive them, but the angry memories resurface. The other males had baited me. Stabbed at me. They thought I would fall, but all they did was release the wild inside me. I willingly impaled myself for leverage, taking daggers without pain. Ripped a male’s arm from its socket. Broke another’s leg. Blinded another with a dagger to his eye. Covered myself in their blood and yet…
I couldn’t protect Marbella.
The one female I vowed I would always protect.
The painful bruises dotting her body between the folds of her robe were a harsh reminder that I couldn’t defend her.
Is it any surprise that she doesn’t want me in her life?
With a roar, my fist collides with the wooden post, a single hit that cracks it clean down the middle. The training post—my only tangible target right now—splits before my eyes.
Useless piece of…
My next fist crashes against the falling wood, smashing the upper portion toward the lower stump. I drop to my knee for greater impact, forcing the two pieces together. The broken upper piece shatters against the stump, but the collision jars through me, finally an impact that I can feel.
I should have killed Rhydian Valor.
I rise up from my lowered stance, pulling back my shoulders, tilting my head into the sunlight streaming around me. Its warmth was once calming, like a promise of hope.
Marbella and I stand under the same sun.
That single thought carried me through the dark days of waiting, but not anymore. It’s not enough anymore.
I turn away from the sun into a silence that feels catastrophic. I brace for my soldiers’ reactions to my sudden and willful aggression.
I’m humbled that each one stands, head lowered, fist to chest, granting me a gesture of respect. The nearest male steps forward, raising his eyes to mine. “You honored your House today, Commander Rath. You fought for the Storm Princess with honor.”
Would my father think so? He taught me to fight with integrity and intelligence, never with rage. “You are the last,” he told me. “You can’t afford to give in to emotion. To lose focus is to die.”
My fists remain closed at my sides. All I can do is nod.
I bend to the broken training post, spread my shirt across the ground, and load it up with the broken pieces, pulling the edges of the shirt around them to form a stack that I leverage into my
arms. I carry the entire bundle all the way to the back of the dinner hall, where I add it to the pile of firewood. There’s no point putting the shirt back on. It’s covered in splinters of wood.
I plant my hands on my thighs, breathing out slowly.
I need to stop feeling.
I need a tavern and a bottle of strong drink.
My mind clears for long enough to signal my legs to move. I run through the military compound, sucking air into my lungs, my feet flying as I dart through alleyways toward the same shady tavern where I found Sebastian the other night. I avoid the public paths, remaining out of sight, taking the back ways, the shadowy corridors.
I only slow down when I reach the door, shoving it open and entering the gloom. Somehow, it’s darker during the day. A handful of elves sit at various tables, but they turn back to their drinks as soon as I enter.
Approaching the tavernkeeper at the counter, I say, “The House of Rath will reimburse you.”
He gives me a grin, wipes his hands on his apron, and splays his arms wide at the various bottles lining the shelf behind him. “Be my guest.”
I point at the largest one I can see but grab his arm before he turns to retrieve it. “You will not allow Rhydian Valor to step foot inside this place while I am here. Otherwise, you will have a murder on your hands.”
The tavernkeeper’s grin grows broad. “Rest easy, Commander. The House of Rath’s coin is worth more to me than that of Valor.”
I accept the bottle he hands me, sucking it down without stopping to breathe. I deposit it onto the counter while the tavernkeeper stares at me with increasingly wide eyes.
“Another.”
Four bottles of wine later, each one consumed slower than the last, I stumble from the tavern onto the cobbled street, my mind dull and hazy. It’s dark now that night has fallen. A cool breeze dances across my cheeks and the stitches across my bare back.
That breeze… that malicious wind… it snatched Marbella’s ribbon clean out of my fingers, lured us from safety, enticed her to the edge of the cliff, where she was willing to give up everything—willing to give up her life—for me.
The wind took everything from me.
I head back to the military compound, somehow managing to find my way through the dark streets without a lamp, avoiding other elves at every turn, relying on three years of prowling through dark places to get me home safely.
Once there, I stare at my door, confused. I thought I was coming home, but this isn’t it. This is not my bedroom.
I’m vaguely aware of the flustered female elves around me, all dressed in gray suits and carrying weapons—Marbella’s Storm Command, speaking in hushed voices.
I wanted to go home, but somehow, I found my way back to Marbella.
One of them, a graceful blonde female, spins away from me, calling for Jordan.
I drop my head against the wooden surface of Marbella’s door, flex my hands against it, and consider how easy it would be to break it down the same way I cracked the training post. Too easy, and yet impossible.
I slide down it, hunching to the side, one shoulder pressed hard up against the door, my legs in a kneeling position.
Jordan’s worried face comes into focus. “Commander Rath, are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I groan. “The wind stole it, Jordan.”
She glances at the other females. “Stole what?”
“The blue ribbon…”
Pieces of the past rush through my memory, the last night I saw Marbella, her lavender cloak spread across the rocky earth cushioning our knees, not nearly as soft as her lips.
You have my permission.
Now I have no permission. None.
I can’t even fight for her because she can’t let me win.
“The lavender cloak,” I whisper, my hands falling to my sides, palms open against the ground. “The wind stole it all.”
Jordan studies me with a frown as I stare past her at a spot on the opposite wall. There’s nothing artificial here. No paintings or expensive furniture, but Marbella is surrounded by something much more priceless: friends who would protect her with their lives.
They surround me now and I’m alert enough to recognize the battle stances they're taking, the way they hold their weapons ready. I may be able to command them, but Marbella’s sanctity comes first.
“Commander Rath?” Jordan asks.
I focus on her, gritting my teeth. “I’m going to kill Rhydian Valor.”
“Hmm.” She turns to the female on her right—the blonde female with bright blue eyes who moves with a calm grace. “Reisha, can you please hail one of the messengers to fetch Macsen Mercy? We need him here right away.”
The blonde female immediately spins and disappears down the corridor at a deft run, leaving me with Jordan and nearly twenty other females. I suspect I’ve interrupted their change of rotation, since there are usually only ten females around Marbella at any given time.
Jordan kneels at my side, quietly placing a hand on my arm, her head bowed. “You will get through this,” she murmurs. “We all will.”
“When will it end, Jordan?” I whisper. “When will the memories leave me in peace?” My voice turns to a growl. “When will that damn blue ribbon stop spinning in the wind?”
She doesn’t answer, the curtain of her dark brown hair obscuring her face.
When Macsen finally arrives, Jordan lets go of my arm. Macsen reaches for me, bending to pull my arm over his shoulder and help me stand. “Come on, brother. Let’s get your wretched ass out of here.”
By the time the cold night air hits my face, I’m more sober than I want to be.
“You need to be alert for the next trial,” Macsen says, supporting me as I attempt to stay steady on my feet. “There’s a rumor that it will be the compatibility test.”
No, not that. I’ll be forced to tell the truth about a lavender cloak and a blue ribbon.
I grab Macsen’s arm. “Fetch me another bottle.”
He gives me a stern shake of his head. “Baelen, you’ve had enough.”
“No,” I say, sheer determination coursing through me. “I haven’t.”
27. Marbella Mercy
Because I stayed in the Storm Vault for two days straight, it doesn’t need subduing that afternoon, so I remain hidden away in my bedroom after Baelen leaves—even eating in there before finally collapsing into a deep sleep that night.
But even in my dreams, I can’t get away from him. His voice invades my sleep in the dark of night and I toss and turn, trying to ignore the ache in my chest. Finally, the early morning glow from the skylight wakes me before I want to be awake. Jordan bustles around me, folding blankets and pushing clothing into my closet much too noisily.
She pauses when she sees I’m awake. “How are you feeling?”
“It’s not the bruises that hurt.”
Okay, so I said that out loud. Not what I intended but I’ll have to live with it. I locate my spare pillow wrapped in the sheets beside me and pull it into a hug. She keeps shooting glances at me and it makes me feel like I missed something… Now that I think of it, the foggy memories of Baelen’s voice in the night seem a little too real in the light of day…
I pluck at my sheets, not wanting to sound too concerned. “I had a dream that Commander Rath was here in the middle of the night. Was that a dream or…?”
“He was here.”
I sit bolt upright. “What?”
“He was completely intoxicated so we sent him away.”
Baelen was drunk? That was a first.
“Don’t worry, we sent someone to fetch your brother to take him away. We weren’t sure if Commander Rath would make it home safely otherwise.”
“I’m… stunned. What did he say?”
She perches on the end of my bed. She hasn’t put her boots on, which means she wasn’t really trying to wake me up. Every time she flexes her toes, they enter a shaft of light shining from the ceiling. Even her feet move with purpose.
“He, ah… said a lot of things. Mostly about killing Rhydian Valor and everyone associated with him. But he also kept repeating something about a lavender cloak and a blue ribbon? He kept saying that the wind stole the ribbon—that it took everything. Does that mean anything to you?”
I slide back under the covers, pulling them up around my neck. My heartbeat increases as I remember his younger fingers looping through the blue ribbon I used to wear in my hair, sliding through my braid, loosening my hair, and letting it fall over my shoulders…
“The ribbon was the only nice thing I owned,” I say. “It was pale, like the color of blue ice. Which is ironic, considering what I became.”
Jordan slides from the base of the bed to the floor in front of me, crossing her legs and picking at the hem of her pants leg. “When Sebastian handed you his heartstone, I dealt with it by focusing on you and my duty to protect you. I pushed everything else out of my mind. You need to do the same thing now. Your life depends on these protocols and they’re getting more dangerous. You need to empty your mind and focus.”
She rises, always graceful, and brushes herself off. “It’s a new day.”
“I’m lucky to have you.” I loosen my hold on the pillow, letting it go, sliding my feet to the floor and planting them firmly on it. The Elven Command has stopped following the traditional sequence of protocols, but at some point they have to have a compatibility test. Sebastian Splendor will be eliminated then and my friend’s heart can mend.
“It’s a new day,” I murmur. “Let’s start it with a walk. It’s time to make some changes.”
Baelen wouldn’t approve but I wear a simple, loose dress when I leave my quarters. I can’t bear anything pressing against my skin, not even the strap that would help me carry a wooden staff. To compensate, my ladies are armed to the teeth: full body armor, swords, daggers, bows and arrows. They even wear matching headpieces and smear red dust across their eyes to make themselves look fierce. Jordan, in particular, is ferocious. She’s the tallest of them, carrying red-feathered arrows and weapons with blood-red handles.
